


Urban Legend

by JayEz



Series: Husbands in Crime (Coldwave Week 2016) [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 1920s, Asexual Character, Asexual Mick Rory, Backstory, Episode: s01e07 Marooned, Fix-It, I'm both proud and terrified while posting this, M/M, Mental Instability, Mick is not Dead, Mick-centric, POV Mick Rory, Slow Build, Team as Family, Time Travel, What Was I Thinking?, eventual metahuman Mick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mick sorts himself out after Len marooned him, and eventually crosses paths with Vandal Savage. <br/>(Slow build fix-it for LoT 1x07. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6246328">“Sparked”</a>, though can be read as a standalone.)</p>
<p>[Coldwave Week, Day 5: Monster/Magic/Meta]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Urban Legend

**Author's Note:**

> Personal challenge to myself in this installment: write Mick’s POV. And write a LoT 1x07 fix-it. And keep it short. Uh, yeah. This escalated. And grew feelings. 
> 
> For the record, the decision that Len leaves Mick in the 1920s was all Len's. I had no say in the matter. 
> 
> Also, I will believe in ace!Mick until canon gives us an enthusiastic sex scene.

The radiator’s warm against his back. 

_Flip. Switch. Flick._

The punk kid’s still sitting next to him. Almost like he’s never seen a lighter before. 

_Flip. Switch. Flick._

Maybe it’s just Mick’s way of handling it. People seem to find it strange. 

_Flip. Switch. Flick._

He lets the flame remain, then. Stares right in the heart of it, and finally, after days and days of noise keeping him awake during the hours of each night, Mick’s head quiets. 

When he relaxes, Snart startles. The kid’s hands are twitching, like a scared animal. Much like he looked a couple o’ days ago when Mick told him to get the lighter back. Snart was just as afraid of him like every other whuzz in this joint, but Snart’s fear had another layer to, one that would’ve brought him to Mick’s cell if told. The thought alone churns Mick’s stomach. 

Maybe that’s why he says, “We’d make a good team.”

Gotta hand it to Snart – the kid’s got one fine poker face. 

“What makes you say that?”

Mick flicks the lighter closed. Flips it open. Switches it on. “That diversion. Pretty weak, if you ask me.”

If Snart’s surprised Mick connected the dots, he doesn’t show it. “You saying you could do a better job?”

Mick turns his head and meets Snart’s eyes. They’re just as blue as he remembers. Mick wonders if they’d melt under fire, or just burn. 

*

_“I fought back, but one of them had a shiv and I figured that was it… until Mick stepped in. They didn't mess with me after that. He's been standing up for me ever since.”_

*

They start small. Mick doesn’t care as long as he gets to do something. The buzzing inside his skull starts again if he’s still for too many days in a row.

The night after they nicked some magazine from one of the bigger kids and fenced it to the highest bidder, Mick notices a few boys – tall, black, broad – looking at Snart during dinner. Snart won’t see it, ‘cause the punk’s too busy keeping his head down. 

Snart doesn’t see Mick trailing the kids following him neither, and looks up to Mick in wonder once he dropped Snart’s shadows like sacks of potatoes on the farm. 

*

_“Without me to keep him in check, Mick can be a scary guy.”_

_“Agreed.”_

*

His head’s full of cotton. 

_Flip. Switch. Flick._

His head’s full of cotton and he can’t even burn it. 

Mick surges to his feet. Starts pacing. His cellmate shifts in his bunk. Probably to huddle closer to the wall. He knows complaining isn’t gonna do him no good. 

Daylight means salvation and Mick finds Snart right after count. 

“When’s the next job?”

“The inspection’s still ongoing.” 

Mick shoves the boy against the wall. “I don’t care!”

The flash of panic in Snart’s eyes brings a brief reprieve, but Mick’s itching all over again moments later. He’s pressing an arm across Snart’s chest without remembering when he moved. 

“You’re no good to me in here if you’re playin’ chicken,” Mick growls. “You wanna go back to lookin’ over your shoulder every damn second? ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if you’re being a pussy.”

Snart swallows and inhales audibly. “Fine.” 

He glances down at the arm and Mick steps back with a grunt. 

*

The next time the noise in his skull starts up again, Mick catches Snart looking at him funny. 

A day later the kid tells him to follow him outside. Mick refuses, ‘cause it’s cold as a cow’s snout now that winter’s coming to Central City. But Snart insists. 

“What’s that? You wanna make me read?” he asks when he identifies the pile behind the shed as _books_ , of all things.

“I figured you’d like to burn something.”

Mick’s head snaps up and his hand darts to his lighter immediately. 

“Where’d you get those?”

“I work in the library, Rory,” Snart drawls. “Inmates ain’t the most considerate readers so sometimes we throw some out. Thought you’d take care of that for us.” 

Mick watches the majestic flames consume every last inch of paper. When they go back inside, his head’s quiet again. Maybe he can stand the cold for a bit if he gets to watch stuff burn. 

*

“I’m getting out next week,” Snart says one day in spring. 

Mick grunts, and does another set of weights. He’s the brawn, after all. Gotta look the part, too. Besides, he likes the repetitive motion. Keeps his head clear, he found. 

Snart, ‘cause he’s probably the only person in the world who can read Mick with anything close to precision, drops the topic after that. 

Their last week in juvie together ain’t nothing special. Snart cons people, Mick hurts select ones, draws attention when needed. It’s not hard, not anymore. They’re living like kings now. 

Then Snart’s sentence ends while Mick’s still got six months waiting for him. And that’s that. 

Or so Mick thought. 

“Like you said, Rory,” Snart tells him before Mick’s eyes get a chance to adjust to the light outside the walls of prison. Somehow, it’s brighter on this side of the fence. “We make a good team.”

And they do. 

Sure, Snart’s a lying bastard sometimes, but he’s a crook. And he makes up for all the times he doesn’t mention some intel or other with other things. Mick’s head’s never been quiet for such long stretches before. 

It’s almost like Mick’s found his place.

At least until some dickhead of a scientist takes a beating for Mick in Russia. 

Until something in Mick’s chest pulls when Palmer thanks him.

Until Len’s smile turns fonder, somehow. 

Until Star City. 

It’s like Mick’s two separate people all squeezed into one body, and he’s got no idea who’s looking back at him in the mirror, only that he’s gotta make the noise inside his head stop. 

*

_“That the plan? Take me out in the middle of nowhere, where no one can find the body?”_

_“I wish there were some other way, Mick, but you're dangerous. A liability to the team.”_

_“Team? You and I were a team! What happened to you?”_

*

“People change,” Snart says – ‘cause he’s _Snart_ now, not _Len_ or _Lenny_ or whatever new nickname’s Lisa got for him and told Mick about just to make sure her brother’s maxed out on annoyance for the week. 

Mick feels his jaw clench. “You think you're some kind of hero,” he snaps, “but deep down you're still the same punk kid I saved in juvie.” 

He knows Snart. Knows what the man’s capable of – and what he ain’t. 

“You haven't got the guts,” Mick goads him. “You wanna kill me? Kill me. Only one of us is walking outta here alive.” 

“You're right.”

Mick’s got a split second to wonder what Snart just agreed to, but the familiar sound of the Cold Gun charging is answer enough. Mick’s not a coward – he’s always wanted to die with his eyes wide open. But the glare of the ray’s too bright and he’s gotta squeeze them shut. 

Death doesn’t come, though. 

Mick starts. His feet are freezing. 

Snart looks wrecked as he lowers the Cold Gun. His mouth twitches like it does when he’s about to speak but hasn’t got the words right yet. 

“You lettin’ me go?”

Snart nods. Mick tries to move but the soles of his shoes stick to the ground. Frozen in place. The anger inside his chest roars to life again and Snart takes a step back. 

“You’re a fucking coward!”

“Maybe.” Snart’s expression’s completely blank when he says, “It’s 1925. You’ll like the Prohibition era. Get your head on straight, Mick. I’ll come back for you once we’ve taken down Savage.” 

Then he leaves.

Mick hurls insults after him, curses at the top of his lungs but it’s no use. If Len doesn’t want anyone to hear him, no one’s gonna hear him. He can’t even hear himself over the buzzing in his head. 

*

He tears through cities and towns like fire eats through wood, until there’s only charcoal in his wake. He chases the quiet but every time it’s near, it’s gone again. 

The years with Snart taught him some tricks and he pulls them out one by one. The Roaring Twenties or whatever they’re called never stood a chance. Speakeasies start to feel familiar as Mick’s making a name for himself, gets jobs, bootlegs, sets the world on fire… but the damn noise inside his skull just don’t ever stop. 

A shot glass appears in front of him on the counter. Looks like someone coughed up enough for the good moonshine, the one that’s not panther’s piss.

“I hear you’re a man of many talents,” says a voice that churns Mick’s stomach. 

Vandal Savage is leaning against the bar. 

“I also hear your talents are for hire.”

“Who’s askin’?” Mick grunts. 

There’s no recognition in Savage’s eyes. Right – Mick’s past is this guy’s future. 

“Roberto LaPietra,” Savage says pleasantly. “I work with the Outfit.”

“Only been in town for a week and already the Chicago Mob’s knockin’ on my door,” is all Mick says. He doesn’t touch the hooch.

“Your reputation precedes you. They call you the Phoenix.”

He likes Heatwave better, Mick decides. 

“Mr. Capone is interested in acquiring a certain orb currently inside the city’s most secure safe. You cracked the Wisconsin Vault, according to our sources. This is the next big challenge.”

“Don’t care about that.”

Savage adjusts without missing a beat. “Well, enlighten me, Mr. Phoenix – what do you care about?” 

“Money.”

Savage finds that funny, for some reason. 

“Oh, we have money. Name your price.”

Mick says ten thousand ‘cause Len would get a kick out of that. He’s left with a weird feeling in his chest. 

“That’s a little steep, wouldn’t you say?”

“Take it or leave it,” Mick tells him, then downs the shot. 

The burn at the back of his throat distracts him for long enough to get to his feet, but once he’s upright all he hears is Len’s amused chuckle. 

He misses him. No use denying it any more. 

It’s been two years and Mick still feels Len’s absence like a missing limb. 

Mick’s head is eerily quiet, which feels weird after all this time of constant noise. He’s about to turn on his heels to change his offer, ‘cause the obvious place where he’ll find his partner again is with Savage, but he stops himself in time. Len taught him a lot, but cutting a deal’s always been his personal specialty. 

Savage calls him back. Mick grins to himself.

*

The orb’s not really an orb; more like a ball-shaped rock. 

It’s also glowing. 

Bright red veins are marring the surface, pulsating at irregular intervals. All Mick can do is stare at the beauty of it. He’s enthralled. 

That’s how the orb’s owner finds him. Len’s voice inside Mick’s head chides him for losing his head like that. Mick grabs the thing and draws his gun at the same time. The rock’s warm to his touch. It sings to him.

Then it bursts into flames. 

Its owner’s splayed across the floor, the back of her head missing from the bullet Mick hit her with, so there’s no one there to see how the fire grows and grows. It engulfs Mick, head to toe, and he expects it to hurt – everything this beautiful’s gotta hurt – but there’s no pain. Maybe he’s hallucinating. 

He welcomes the flames, lets them wash over him. He’s got no idea how long he stands there, eyes closed, before the heat retreats into the center of his chest where it makes itself at home like a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. 

The rock’s still in his hands, but the red veins are gone. 

*

There’s no adjustment period, no difficulties. Mick goes from human to meta in the blink of an eye and just like that, he’s made his new abilities his bitch. 

Savage wants to run experiments. Mick tells him to fuck off. 

“I’m no one’s guinea pig.”

“How about enforcer?” Savage counters, and offers more money. 

His head’s so clear it’s disorienting, but he’s still got his wits about him – maybe more than he ever did. Staying close to Savage is the key to finding Len again. Now that he’s not denying anymore that he wants that, it’s time to work on that mission. 

Mick accepts.

*

_“You want me in, I’m in. But I’m not gonna be anyone’s hero.”_

*

“You’re turning into something of an urban legend,” Savage tells him weeks later. 

It’s probably supposed to be a compliment, but all it does is make Mick think of Len again. A flame erupts in his palm. Mick lets it grow – it’s breathtaking. Not even his partner’s gonna be able to deny that. Former. 

Usually folks run scared whenever Mick shows his talents, but Savage ain’t going anywhere. The guy could try and hide it better that he’s not afraid of a little fire, but Mick’s just the henchman, not his chief of staff or whatever. Savage probably figures he’s too thick to connect the dots. 

“Mr. Capone wants us to ensure the city bows to his rule, now that the Moran gang has been handled.”

Yeah, they’ve been handled alright. Even Mick heard of the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre back in 2016. Or ahead in 2016? English ain’t suited for time travel. 

“Don’t care about politics. ‘S long as I’m getting my dough, you just gotta tell me what you want.” 

“I like that about you, Mr. Phoenix. I really do.” 

Savage’s smile is slick as oil. Moments like these, Mick really wants to punch the guy. 

“We’re going to interrupt a meeting on the Southside. Your task is to look menacing and step in should anyone decide to act out.”

Too bad that none of them do. 

Before the orb, Mick would’ve been pissed off at the lack of violence, but now he’s eerily calm about it. His head’s clear as he stands next to Savage and draws everyone’s gaze with the way the veins in his hands are pulsating in a vicious red. 

They’re in an abandoned warehouse. Mick guesses back in 1929, that wasn’t as much of a cliché as a century later. 

“And what’s in it for us?” one of the other thugs scoffs. 

He’s got one of them hats Mick’s seen people wear. Boaters or skimmers or whatever they’re called. Mick used to wear a fedora ‘cause he thinks Len would’ve loved them, but these things catch fire too quickly. He’s kept the suspenders, though – they’re darn practical. 

“Al Capone won’t annihilate you,” Savage tells the lad. “Now scuttle.”

Mick channels the heat inside his chest into his hands until they’re burning brightly. The other men flee with their tails between their legs. It’s when Mick and Savage want to follow that the doors won’t open anymore. 

They’re frozen shut. 

Mick’s heart jumps into his throat. He’d know that type of ice anywhere. 

Savage whirls around. His coat billows annoyingly until he comes to an abrupt stop. Mick doesn’t need to look to know who’s standing in the middle of the warehouse floor. 

“How dare you?” Savage booms. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Oh yes, I do,” Rip Hunter says. “And I’ve come to stop you, Vandal Savage.”

He’s hidden in the shadows, so Mick can’t see that fella’s face but he imagines it’s glorious. Especially ‘cause Savage doesn’t seem to recognize the Captain from when he tried to kill him the first time around.

“If you know my real name you’ll also be aware that you won’t be able to do that.”

Hunter grins. “I wouldn’t bet on that. Gentlemen!”

Firestorm lands next to the Captain. For the first time Mick can look at them and not get jealous over their pretty flames. He’s got his own now. 

“Fascinating… But I have my own monster.” 

Savage gestures with a hand to where he knows Mick’s still standing. Mick wants to snap at the guy ‘cause he’s no monster, but he’s too distracted casing the dimly lit space for any sign of his partner. 

_Former partner._

Mick grits his teeth and steps forward. 

Hunter flinches visibly. Silvertop and the kid separate with a _whoosh_. Haircut probably trips over his tiny little feet in his Atom suit somewhere on the ground or on Hunter’s shoulder. Mick still got no idea where Len’s at, or the Canary and Birdie. 

“You’re supposed to be dead, Mr. Rory,” Hunter states, like it ain’t obvious from everyone’s dumb expressions. 

“What the hell, dude?” the kid says. “After all that, he’s been alive the whole time?”

Mick feels Len before he hears him. 

“Well, if you thought I’d simply ice my partner, you really don’t know me very well.”

Len looks good. He’s wearing all black like at the weapons fair, even got a fedora to go with it. Mick’s mouth is dry. It’s been so long for him, four years, but Len still looks like he remembers, with the same amount of grey streaking his hair. 

Sara is a step behind Len, in a flapper dress. Mick’s sure she’s hiding at least seven weapons underneath it.

“As interesting as this has been,” Savage says. Mick’s forgotten the guy’s still there. “I shall take my leave. Phoenix, bump them off.”

“You’re the Phoenix?” Hunter shifts into a more defensive stance. “Of-bloody-course you’re the Phoenix, how could I not connect the dots?”

Len’s eyes are sad. Mick hates that expression. 

“Look at you, Mick – you’ve become a legend after all.”

“Urban legend,” Mick says. It’s the first time he spoke since Hunter showed himself. 

“You mincing words now?” Sara asks, but only ‘cause Len’s face is all tense. 

Mick hates that even more than the sadness, so he ignites his palm. Len’s eyes widen, but it’s not fear – it’s appreciation. 

“Fascinating!” the professor gasps. “We assumed the Phoenix was a metahuman. What could have possibly happened to change you on an atomic level like this?”

“A rock.”

“Pardon?”

Savage clears his throat and everyone turns to him. Mick keeps his eyes locked on Len’s. They’re so blue Mick can even make them out from a couple o’ feet away. 

“I believe I gave you an order.”

“I can’t believe you’re one of his lackeys now!” Hunter protests. 

He keeps talking but Mick ain’t paying attention to anything but the flames swelling in his palms. Even Sara’s taking a step back, but not Len; Len’s regarding him with a calculating expression. Mick feels his lips twitch. That man’s still the only one who’s got any chance of reading him. 

Which is why Len’s the only one not surprised when Mick turns the flames on Savage instead. 

Mick’s long learned to change their property and right now all they’re doing is holding the guy down. Mick would’ve loved to burn him till he’s dust, but he knows that’s not gonna work in the long run. 

“Well?” he shouts at Hunter. “Where’s bird girl?”

*

Hunter’s crying. Bird girl is, too, and she’s in the kid’s arms while Haircut’s looking like a kicked puppy, never mind they just busted Savage’s ass. 

Sara’s the first to smile at Mick. “Can’t say I’m surprised. The way Snart talks about you, I’d have needed to see your body to believe you’re actually dead. And even then…” 

She trails off and drags Stein away who’s still staring at Mick, like he’s something he’s gonna put under a microscope. Yeah, not happening. 

When Len steps up to him, Mick’s arms twitch. He really wants to cross them, but he’s super conscious of what message that’s gonna send to Snart. He loops his thumbs behind the suspenders instead. Another reason he kept them. 

“Thought you’d like the fedoras,” Mick murmurs when the silence’s stretched so long he’s getting uncomfortable. 

“You don’t?” 

“I do.”

“But?”

“Catch fire too quickly.”

Len snorts. Mick never wants the banter to stop. 

“Yeah, what’s that about, Mick?”

“Some rock I stole.”

“Must’ve been some rock,” Len says. He takes another step towards him; he’s practically in Mick’s reach now and his hands are twitching again. 

He wants to tell Len about the ten thousand dollars he got for it, or the heist he pulled last month, or that diamond in Maine, or the gold dagger in Oregon, but his throat ain’t working and it’s pissing Mick off that Len’s ignoring the giant-ass elephant in the room.

“Your hands, uh…” Len flicks his wrist towards them. 

Takes some effort to force the fire back, but Mick manages. He hears Len take a deep breath and braces himself for whatever’s coming. It’s not gonna be difficult if Snart doesn’t make it difficult.

“Judging by the ex machina moment back there, I take it you’ve got your head on straight again?” 

Mick nods. 

“You’re done being a liability?”

Another nod. 

Something in Len’s expression shifts. “You still wanna watch the world burn?”

“Nah.”

“Why?” Len tilts his head a little, like he’s honestly confused.

Mick levels a smirk at him. “’Cause now I’m burning.” 

He calls on the fire inside him to enforce the point, channels it through his palms and makes it climb up to his shoulders before it vanishes again. 

When he looks up, Len’s eyes are shining. Mick’s seen the man cry before and he’s never handled it well; it’s worse than anything Mick’s ever known outside the buzzing in his head. He crosses the space that’s still separating them then and pulls Len into a hug. 

Mick can count on one hand how often they’ve touched when there’s other people around, first ‘cause Len’s old man had ears and eyes fucking everywhere, then ‘cause it sorta stuck. 

Now though, Len just goes with it and returns as good as he’s getting. Whatever’s gone down since Mick left the time ship must’ve been something if Len’s this relaxed around the team. 

Mick breathes in deeply. The heat in his chest purrs. 

*

They’re all victory-drunk long before they even reach the speakeasy, but it doesn't matter ‘cause everyone else there’s just as bent. 

Mick’s a regular at the place; came for an enforcer job and stayed for the atmosphere. The kid and Birdie are already on the floor, shaking their gams, and Canary’s laying it on thick with some doll at the bar where Palmers still coughing after the last shot. 

Lens between them, and Mick can feel his leg against his own through the wool of his pants. 

Hunter clears his throat after another round. “Mr. Rory,” he begins solemnly. “I said some things that I deeply regret. All I saw were your flaws while ignoring the many ways you’d helped the team, and for that I’m sorry.” 

Mick really thought the moonshine would’ve distracted the Captian from getting sentimental. No such luck. So Mick meets Hunter’s pleading gaze. 

He nods, then pours another round. “Now drink.” 

Hunter shakes his head. “I really don’t wish to become blind.” 

“This ain’t no coffee varnish,” Mick says, and tops off the other glass. “No one’s gonna get blind from this stuff. Haircut!” 

Palmer tears his eyes away from Birdie. 

“Less mopin’, more drinkin’.” 

“Easy for you to say…” 

“Be glad you missed the drama, Mick,” Len cuts in with an eye roll. “I’ve experienced torture that was less agonizing than watching that love triangle play out.” 

Mick chuckles at the thought. “I'll drink to that.” 

Sara appears at Hunter’s elbow with a coy smile. “Don't expect me back on the Waverider tonight, boss.”

The Captain raises a hand, probably to protest, but then lowers it again. “I guess we can put off our return to 2016 until tomorrow.” 

“The prerogative of owning a time ship,” Len agrees. 

He and the Canary share a look. Mick feels like he missed an entire conversation when Sara walks off, joining that bearcat from before. 

“I could buy STAR Labs,” Palmer mumbles to no one in particular. Probably made sense in his head. “I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, Gideon’s projection say Dr. Wells manages to get back to his earth, and someone’s got to fund the Flash, right? Might as well be me.” 

Mick tunes him out after that ‘cause his partner’s gone real quiet. It’s been four years, but Mick still knows that face. 

“Stop it.” 

Len squints at him. “Stop what?” 

“You’re worrying. Thinking too hard.” 

Len is silent for another minute. “I've changed.” 

Mick ignites his hand in reply. The lass working the bar doesn't even bat an eye. They know Mick around here. 

Len cocks an eyebrow. “That’s gonna be your default reaction from now on, isn’t it?” 

Mick’s lips curl, though instead of cheering him up, Len’s just wound even tighter now. Mick leans forward and lowers his voice so only Len can hear. 

“I’m tellin’ ya, don’t worry too much. We’ll figure it out. Together.” 

“Together?” Len echoes. 

Mick gives a nod, then does something that's so terrifying he's never had the guts to do it.

He puts his hand on Len’s. 

Len blinks down at them for the longest couple of seconds of Micks life – Len’s the only one who know that all that stuff with the girls on his arm was nothing but posturing, him being stupid and pretending to be something he’s not. Len’s one of the smartest people Micks ever met, he knows Mick ain’t wired the way other people are wired. And every time Mick pictured something like this in his head, Len said thanks but no thanks, pal. 

Len doesn’t say that. Doesn’t say anything, actually, just shifts his hand underneath Mick’s bigger one and intertwines their fingers on an exhale. 

Len’s eyes are bright when he looks up. “Together?” 

Mick swallows. “Together.” 

The fire inside his chest sings.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I’ve hardly ever been so nervous about posting something like I am with this. I wanted to do Mick justice and give him and Len the happy ending they deserve but in character and not too rushed... I hope the sentiments translate as well as I hope they do. 
> 
> So yeah – penny for your thoughts? 
> 
> Oh, and no – Mick doesn't care about inflation^^ $10,000 in 1927 would equal $133,600 today.


End file.
